


Hermione's Code

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Codes & Ciphers, F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Love Letters, POV Female Character, Secret Admirer, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger has a secret admirer when a penchant for writing in code.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hermione's Code

**Author's Note:**

> EWE. I wrote this secret admirer to be Severus Snape, because I enjoy those two: the intellect, the snark, the insults, the quick wit. I remembered that [](http://tree00faery.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tree00faery.livejournal.com/)**tree00faery** did too, so I thought to write the pairing for her. It got a bit out of hand, so I cut it off early. There are Snape-ish hints but no real evidence, so you can read this however you choose. Also, there are no explanations for his survival if it is him, save that he's writing letters, which would indicate a state of not deadness. That is all.

It was nice not to be on the run. People on the run could not keep to routines, and Hermione enjoyed her routines very much.

It was Wednesday and she always worked late on Wednesdays, because of the weekly meetings with each subset of employees in the Department of Magical Communications. She was the youngest person to manage a department at the Ministry, achieving the position through years of intense studies, hard work, and brilliant ideas. She liked to think that her name didn't play a part, but she wasn't quite naïve enough to believe that.

She stepped under the eaves of her flat building and pushed off the hood of her jacket, glad finally to be out of the incessant rain. The building was in a Muggle area of London, so she used a Muggle lock and key, but there are also wards up that would make Mad-Eye proud. She was still a little paranoid; some things are hard to let go.

She flipped the switch as she entered, bathing her cosy flat in warm, golden light. The little kitchen with its maple-topped island, tall stools, high wooden cabinets, and slightly outdated (but still serviceable) appliances was tidy save for her morning coffee cup on the counter and the askew kitchen towel. She set her purse down on the mosaic-tiled end table by the door and hung her coat on its usual hook. Crookshanks meowed from his comfortable perch on the sofa, and she walked over to scratch behind his ears until he was satisfied with her greeting and turned away. As she often did, she worried about Crookshanks, who had been with her for the last fifteen years and had to be over twenty by now. He was getting old and she hated to think of her world without that perfect squashed ginger face in it. The constants in her life were what kept her sane. There were too many things she could not control; she tried not to dwell on them.

After changing out of her blouse, skirt, pumps, and work robes into her favourite comfy pants and an oversized sweater, she headed back to the kitchen where she made herself a chicken sandwich with some carrots and grapes on the side and poured a glass of red wine. As usual, she curled up on the sofa with an oddly shaped blanket (that she had knitted herself during her crocheting phase) draped over her lap and the cat pushing against her sock-covered feet. She sorted through a large stack of work papers, making piles of situations that must be dealt with herself and those which could be delegated to her assistants or other departments.

A few more personal items were mixed in and she took the time to read those immediately. There was a note from Harry in his usual green ink telling her to come to dinner next week. When she spotted the old-fashioned, cream-coloured parchment folded into perfect thirds and sealed with wax, she paused. Her heart beat faster as she ran her finger under the now-familiar wax seal. Someone had been sending her notes. She hesitated to call him a secret admirer, because the notes thus far have never said anything exactly to that effect, but she was intrigued—very intrigued. Usually they were small things—an article from a recent journal (always something fascinating and usually before the articles were publically available) or a code for her to puzzle out. She particularly loved the codes; he always used a different key or cipher and they were always a good challenge. (She assumed it was a man because of the stark handwriting, but she supposed one could never be sure.) He obviously held her intellect in high regard and she couldn't deny that the personal attention was flattering. She was well-known for sure and moderately well-liked. (Her intensity did scare off a number of people.) But she did not have many close personal friends.

She loved Harry and Ron, of course. She had gone through hell with them and that sort of thing forged the strongest sort of bond. They loved her too, but neither of them really understood her. She longed for someone with whom she could connect both on a personal level and also an intellectual one. So far all of her acquaintances were strictly one or the other.

She slid her fingers across the smooth dried ink on the parchment. This person understood her. He knew her; she was sure of it. The notes were impossibly clever, sometimes witty—the driest form of sarcasm that made her chuckle deep inside, and often timely. When she was stressed out or angry, the notes were often more to cheer her up or boost her spirits. Sometimes the codes worked out to be hilariously nasty insults to those who had only that day angered her. The man was a god of insults, like Shakespeare and Swift combined.

Grabbing a ballpoint pen (some things were simply easier and she liked her Muggle comforts) and a pad of paper, she began trying out ciphers. She swiftly discovered it was a polyalphabetic cipher, which put a smile on her face. Vigenere ciphers were so much more interesting than simple Caesar ciphers. Chewing on her lip, she began writing out a Vigenere square, a table that contained the alphabet written out in twenty-six lines or combinations. Once she had that scribbled out, she tried each word from the one sentence greeting at the top of the page to determine which was her key, letting out a little laugh when she identified it as YOURS. Did that mean something perhaps?

When she finally decoded the text, she couldn't help the smile from taking over her face.

> My dear lady disdain, you have once again survived a week of foppish dullards and pitifully pedestrian minds with delusions of genius. I tip my proverbial hat to you and offer my sincerest respect. You are a beacon of light in a world of dusky mediocrity. I stand in shadow, wishing only for a chance to warm myself in the brightness of your soul. I survive on the distant hope of realising my foolish dream. My heart in your hands, I remain faithfully yours.

Hermione stared at the text in shock, reading it a dozen times and barely believing it. Was this real? Was it a cruel joke? Who would write such a thing to her and hide it behind a complex cipher? She swallowed the last sip of Petite Sirah and gazed at the paper where the words she'd long since memorised swam in front of her. It was time to take action. If this secret admirer was real, she would find him. If he was a joke, she would ruin him. But if he truly meant every beautiful word in his message then she already ached for him. The idea of a person who could care about her, her body, mind, and soul, and also stimulate her intellect and soothe her heart …

There was no question now—she would find him, and soon; her mystery man wouldn't know what hit him. He would be getting the warmth he claimed to want, either from her heart and soul as he so poetically wrote or from the heat of her hex if he was playing her. She was ready for either contingency, but she couldn't help the hope building inside her heart that wished fervently for the former. Her eyes blazing with a newfound sense of purpose and passion, she began to plan. 


End file.
